Chapter Text
Bucky has been ignoring Sam's texts.
Even though that had been a little hard to admit both to himself and Dr. Raynor.
After the blip, or reverse blip, whatever they're calling it, and Stark's funeral, it was only him and Sam for a while.
They'd been kind of lost, kind of wandering around the forgotten wasteland everyone stumbled back into. And that had been perfect in a way, in a very comforting and familiar way. Bucky had gotten just a little too comfortable.
Sam sprung it on him, early one Autumn morning: He was planning on returning home to be with his family. His sister needed help with the business, and Sam had mentioned feeling guilty about leaving Sarah. And he gets that; being missing for five years had played hard on everyone, but Bucky hadn't precisely lost anything.
Except for Sam.
He saw Sam off the morning he left. Stood watching as the plane whisked him away, and suddenly everything had felt quieter. Emptier.
Thing is, it wasn't just comfort in the wild unknown of their post-blip life. Sam wasn't just comfort. Sam was… damn. Bucky found himself stealing glances far too often at the way Sam smiled, his funny little quirks, his weird possessiveness about Redwing. More often than not, he'd find himself close to Sam like a shadow, always guarding and watchful.
He dreamt of Sam too, dreamt of them together and admitting how he felt out loud. He was falling hard, and he'd done that one too many times; he knew it only ended in tragedy each time. Still, he stayed close, hoping Sam would have the courage to say something if he even felt anything at all because Bucky would never get it past his lips.
But Sam left instead.
1 July, 15:11
Wilson: Hey man, just checking in. How's it going in NY?
2 July, 06:00
Wilson: Flip phones don't got a reply button now, huh?
5 July, 14:33
Wilson: Dude, I'm worried. Text me back when you can.
10 July, 07:21
Wilson: Anyway I hope you're good, staying out of trouble and all.
16 July, 19:00
Wilson: I was thinking about that night we went to see Star Wars at the open-air cinema.
They got one here too. We can go if you visit. Let me know.
19 July, 23:45
Wilson: Buck? Come on man.
You know what fine
Whatever
20 July, 00:00
Wilson: Pepper sent over samosas today, I know you like them, like that place down on 4th.
Anyway they made me think about you.
29 July, 17:01
Wilson: png_i5153 *unreadable content*
Goddamnit Bucky
I sent you a picture of the docks at sunset. It's nice. Kinda romantic shit you'd like. The sky is pink tonight. You'd love it, you should come see it.
Bucky stares at the screen, flips it shut, and stares up at his celling instead. At least there's a game on t.v tonight. It should get his mind off the nagging feeling that screams "Sam" from every fiber of his body.
"You should go see her," Says Yori during lunch at the sushi bar. Bucky looks bewildered from Leah to Yori and feels his face heat up.
"Who?" he says, mouth full, definitely not making eye contact with either of them.
Yori motions to his face, crinkles his nose up, "The one that makes you look stupid like this." He flutters his eyes.
"Wow." Bucky pops another Maki in his mouth, "That's nice."
"Go see her." Yori pours more soy sauce on his already soaked roll and eats it.
"I agree," says Leah with a smile, "Not that I don't enjoy the faces you make at your phone. But that's some shit you gotta sort out, man."
"I'm finding another place to eat," he says, pointing at them with his chopsticks. They laugh.
He's wondering if perhaps they're right. Maybe hanging out with Sam again will do him some good. Maybe he's really just lonely and alone.
Later, back at his apartment, he calls Dr. Raynor, runs the idea by her, and expresses just how stupid he thinks it is. Because she loves when he fucking expresses stuff. She doesn't love that he "depreciates and devalues his own thoughts," though.
Ultimately they agree that perhaps going to see Sam is in everyone's best interests. Might get him some closure, but he doesn't share that part. The last thing this woman needs to know is that Bucky is helplessly stupidly and one-sidedly in love with someone. A man at that.
Maintain friendships, she said. So that's what he's going to do. Friendship. He's going to friendship the hell out of this.
Sam was right.
The dock at sunset is exactly the kind of thing Bucky likes. It's all pink and grey and peachy hues. The clouds gather thick on the horizon, white balls shining with golden light.
He stands and watches for a while, lets the last rays of sun bake on his face as it sets in the distance. And then—
"Barnes?"
It feels like a shudder within hearing that voice. When he turns, Sam's up to his elbows in grease, wiping it on an old rag. There's a smudge on his cheek just below his eye, and he's kind of sweaty, wearing a loose and dirty white t-shirt and a pair of worn, washed jeans.
"Hey, Sam," Bucky says, losing his voice in the middle of it, swallowing instead as Sam begins to smile. And yeah, he hadn't been prepared for that at fucking all. He'd forgotten just how goddamn devastating it can be.
"You got my messages?" Sam asks. He comes closer, motions for Bucky to put his bag down on a bench.
"There was a lot." He frowns.
"That's because you're meant to answer them. It's called a conversation."
"That's not a conversation."
Sam puts one greasy finger in the air, "The 21st century begs to differ."
So he's lost none of that infuriating cheek. Bucky is equal parts annoyed and nostalgic. He remembers the days after they just got back, and Sam's smart ass jokes were all that made him laugh. Late at night when they were up for no good reason, he'd let Sam talk him to sleep about some or other wild story from his childhood on these very docks, in this very town.
He sighs, "Did you really invite me here to argue? 'Coz I can just—"
"No, no, no, come on, man. I'm fucking around. You hungry? Wanna eat?" he grins wide, expectantly, waggles his eyebrows, "We got fish."
They do have fish. So many fish, buffets of different kinds of fish, a grill, a salad bar, battered and fried fish, and it all smells divine, yet Bucky can't shake the uneasy longing in his gut.
He wants to be back in the tiny apartment they shared before Sam left. He wants to go back to Chinese take-out on Fridays and shitty action movies and playing monopoly to the point of fighting. He wants that safe feeling back, that complete contentment he felt when it was just them.
But Sam's got all this now- his family, his home, friends, a whole life to get into. Sam has no reason to miss the bewilderment and confusion, the uncertainty and loneliness. There's no reason he'd miss Bucky or what they had. Or didn't have.
"So therapy, huh?" Sam says, licks some sauce off his fingers, eyes flicking up at Bucky across the table. The lights draped around the wooden logs cast an orange glow all around him, kind of like the sunset. Same as the sunset, he's beautiful too. Far too much. Devastating, like he said.
He breathes in, makes himself stop looking, "It helps, plus it's obligatory for the pardon."
Sam laughs, "She grilling your ass?" He pushes the hot sauce over to Bucky. He declines.
"Her and everyone else."
"Woah Woah Woah, you got friends?"
"Yeah, I got friends, Wilson. Jesus."
"Who? Who are your friends then, huh?"
"What? Are you jealous?" He doesn't honestly want to hear the answer to that, "I met them at the sushi place down the road."
"For real, man?" Sam smiles, Bucky swears it looks a little sad, a little fond, something in between perhaps, but he's never seen this look on Sam before. Sam looks away, folds the corner of the menu, "That's good, Buck. That's real good."
It's quiet then, kind of awkward, while Bucky pecks at his salad and Sam dips a few prawns into the hot sauce without actually eating anything.
"So," Sam finally says, clearing his throat, "Friends. Plural?"
Bucky nods, "Leah, Yori and… well Leah and Yori. Unique's kind of weird."
"Nice." Sam shifts in his seat, "Leah?"
"Leah, yeah. Works at the sushi bar. Yori's been trying to set us up; the old man's convinced I need a lady in my life."
Sam laughs, "Wait, how old are they?" He leans forward, grinning so stupidly cute Bucky wants to punch him.
"No—hey, no. Come on, don't laugh. Yori's almost my age, but Leah, she's young." he rolls his eyes, scrunches his napkin into a ball, and tosses it at Sam, "Stop that." He can't help it, though; he starts chuckling too. The more Sam laughs, the more contagious it becomes.
Then, for a brief second, it's how it was back then, just after the blip, when it was them alone in a shabby apartment, playing board games on the small coffee table. Back when he thought he'd find the courage one day to tell Sam just how he felt. When he thought he had all the time in the world.
Bucky rubs at his jaw with his gloved hand, he hasn't laughed like this in a good long while, and it aches a little, and then as the laughter dwindles, they're just sort of staring at each other. Also, awkwardly familiar. Still feels just as helpless as it always had, ever since he realized.
But, fearing that Sam might notice, he talks instead, "What about you? Where's your friends?"
Sam's mouth opens, about to answer, but he's cut short.
"Sam!"
There's a guy in a US Airforce uniform and a backpack, making his way over. Young and clean-shaven, sharp jaw, doe eyes with pink glowy cheeks.
Sam gives Bucky a look, "Speak of the devil." He gets up, drags an extra chair over to their table. They're pretty familiar too, Bucky thinks, judging by the way Sam's greeting him- a handshake turning into a hug, and a happy smile.
"Buck, this is First Lieutenant Torres," Sam says, “Torres, Bucky.”
"Oh, wow, hey man," says the young Lieutenant, holds his hand out to Bucky in greeting. "Nice to meet you." His fucking teeth are pearly white, and his skin is clear as goddamn glass, and he's sporting that bruised eye like it's a fashion statement.
Bucky bites down on the urge to growl—Dr. Raynor says that's a terrible thing to do "what the fuck James"—and shakes his hand, eyes him carefully although that doesn't deter the First Lieutenant over here; his gaze slinks right back to Sam.
"Oh! I got Redwing something!" They sit down, and the kid starts digging through his backpack. Pulls out a motherboard and a flash drive of some kind, "Now this stuff we can keep up with. It's brand new from the base." And he's beaming, grinning wider than Bucky thought someone's mouth could go.
Sam fawns over the tech, smiles up at Torres in awe, "This is the good shit, man! How'd you even get this?"
"Oh, it's nothing. Just had my CO make a few calls." He sheepishly scratches the back of his neck, "He knows a few guys, so—"
Sam's eyebrows go up, impressed, and he reaches over to squeeze Torres' shoulder, "This is amazing, kid. Thanks, really."
Bucky sits and watches in utter horror as the pink darkens on Torres' cheeks.
Oh, he realizes.
Oh.
Fuck.
This kid's completely in love with Sam, Bucky thinks with terrible clarity, still watching Sam gush about the tech Torres brought him, and, in turn, watching Torres smile so hard he might start vibrating.
And fuck. How'd he not think about this? That perhaps Sam had moved on, perhaps he was out there… doing stuff with people. How'd it not occur to him that there's someone out there absolutely perfect for Sam, someone kind and good and without all of Bucky's gross baggage?
It occurs to him now though, and it's sobering at best, crushing at worst.
"Evening, gentleman," a woman says from beside Sam. Must he be his sister, she's gorgeous; he sees the resemblance instantly. Though, Sarah seems a little quieter, reserved, wiser than Sam, if he thinks about it.
"Ah," Sam says, reaching up to flip the ends of Sarah's braids. She smacks his hand away, "Ow—this is my sister, Sarah."
Torres shoots up, holds his hand out to take hers, and then fucking kisses it. Jesus Christ.
"Ma'am, the name's Joaquín. It's a pleasure."
"Oh my," she laughs, "I think the pleasure's definitely mine."
Before Bucky thinks any better of it, he's up too, knocking Torres aside with his hip.
"Bucky Barnes," he flips her left hand over, checking for a ring, "Miss Wilson, is it?" and masters an easy rule 3 smile. "Thrilling to meet you, truly."
"Oh my god, yeah. Sarah's fine though—Sam, where've you been keeping these finely jawed men all this time?" She says, regarding both Bucky and Torres with amusement.
Torres frowns at Bucky, still smiling, constantly goddamn smiling with his mouth full of perfect white teeth.
Sam's just eyeing them both suspiciously, "Uhh," he laughs, "Okay, well, now that we're all acquainted, wanna join me at the house for a cigar?"
Sarah waves them off, "I got stuff to do here, can't sit around smoking all day."
Torres salutes her, and so does Bucky. Because fuck this guy.
"You got some fans, huh?" Bucky hears Sam tell his sister as he stalks out of the restaurant.
"I think you do actually," Sarah says, amused.
"Huh?"
"See you later, superhero man."
Bucky practically feels her eye roll from here; he's enjoying this conversation.
"Wait, what does that mean? Sarah!"
"Hey, wait up!" Torres calls from behind him, jogging to fall in line with Bucky.
Great. Just great. He has to pretend to be totally fine now. He's gotten pretty great at pretending, actually. He's so good at it now that sometimes he convinces even himself. But the ugly, angry feeling currently bubbling in his chest, that annoying niggling pain of rejection, that's… he's not sure he knows how to conceal that. He's not even sure he wants to.
He keeps walking.
"So, uh, you with the Avengers too?" Torres asks.
"No," Bucky says, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets. He looks straight ahead.
"Oh. How do you know Sam then?"
Bucky's head whips to him, "How do you?"
Torres chuckles nervously. He is cute; Bucky gives him that, "He did some work for the airforce, I helped. He's pretty great, huh?"
Bucky hates this. This kid doesn't know Sam. He's got no idea. So what, he's seen him fly a few times, seen him up in the sky when he's free and soaring, and he thinks he knows him? No. He hasn't heard Sam whimpering through a nightmare; he doesn't know Riley, doesn't know the pain Sam carries every time he's up in the sky.
"He's awesome." Bucky does the thing that Dr. Raynor calls a half-assed smile. He doesn't care.
They all meet up at the house. Redwing's lying in the middle of an old wooden table on the porch among screws and wires and tools, and they sit down around him. Sam brings out his cigar box and a few beers. He hands them out then props his legs up on the porch rail, and exhales hard.
Bucky pokes absently at Redwing's body when Torres says, "Oh, Sam's very protective of Redwing, doesn't like people touching him."
And Bucky knows. God, he knows this. He remembers it, remembers Sam hunched over the little A.I late at night, tightening up screws, downloading new software, flicking Bucky's hand away when he tried touching anything.
He glares at Torres, blinking away slowly and takes a sip of his beer instead. That way he won't say anything he'll regret.
The night drags on like that, Sam and Torres joking, talking about mission intel, laughing about some idiots at work. Torres keeps looking at Sam like he hung the moon and Sam gets all coy about it, Torres makes him smile, makes him laugh. It's just like Bucky and Sam used to be, and it eats away at him slowly.
Deep down, he curses the serum for keeping him from getting absolutely shitfaced right now. He'd leave, but he doesn't want to leave Sam.
But the terrible thought of having to share Sam with this guy, forever being on the outskirts watching, makes him choke up.
"Uhm," he shoots up, chair scraping, "I'm, uh," he forces the tight smile again, and Sam knowing what Bucky's real smile looks like, frowns, "I'm beat. Can I—"
Sam gets up too, "Yeah man, Sarah's got the cottage keys, she'll—"
"Okay," he says and jogs down the steps, feels Sam's eyes on his back all the way to the docks.
God fucking damn it.